Page 20 of Falling for My Shifter Boss

The Howling Pines pack still isn't happy about Blackwell Corp's presence in town. Theo tries to hide it, but I catch the tension in his jaw whenever Adrian's name comes up. And the vampires... Lucien D'Arcy's RSVP came with so many conditions and caveats that it took two days just to negotiate where his coven would be seated.

I push through the kitchen's back door into the evening air, writing a quick message to Adrian. The sun has nearly set, painting the sky in deep purples and blues. My wolf suddenly goes still, every instinct screaming that something's wrong.

The usual scents of asphalt and pine are tainted by something sharper—acrid sweat, metal, and a chemical tang that makes my nose burn. My heart pounds as I realize what my wolf already knows: we're not alone.

I whip around, but it's too late.

A figure lunges from the shadows. I barely have time to snarl before a needle pierces my neck. Wolfsbane. Fire ignites in my veins, spreading like molten lead through my blood. My muscles seize as the poison works its way through my system.

I stagger, trying desperately to shift, to let my wolf take over. Another set of hands clamps silver-lined cuffs around my wrists. Agony sears through my skin, the metal burning like acid.

"Got her," a rough voice mutters.

Fighting through the pain, I slam my elbow backward, feeling cartilage crunch as I connect with someone's face. A curse. The satisfaction is brief—my limbs are growing heavier, my thoughts clouding. The wolfsbane is working too fast.

My phone clatters to the ground. Adrian. I need to call... but my fingers won't cooperate. My vision swims, dark spots creeping at the edges.

A cloth presses over my mouth, reeking of chemicals. My wolf's fury turns to panic as our shared consciousness begins to fade.

No. *No.*

The last thing I hear before the darkness swallows me whole is a low chuckle.

Chapter 10

Adrian

I know something's wrong the moment Maya doesn't show up.

At first, I try to rationalize it. She's running late. She's caught up with work. She's lost track of time in that carefree way of hers that usually drives me crazy. But as the minutes tick by, something dark and primal stirs in my chest. My wolf paces beneath my skin, agitated, sensing what I refuse to acknowledge.

One hour becomes two. Her phone rings straight to voicemail now.

She always answers. Even when she's angry with me—especially when she's angry with me—she answers with some sharp-tongued retort that simultaneously infuriates and fascinates me.

By the time I reach her apartment, my control is threadbare. The wolf inside me is no longer pacing but prowling, ready to tear through anyone or anything standing between us and her. The hallway feels too narrow, too confined. Her scent lingers here—lavender and pine, wild and warm—but it's hours old.

I knock once. Hard enough that the door frame shudders.

Nothing.

I knock again, my knuckles white with tension.

Silence.

My phone is in my hand before I realize I've moved, dialing her number one last time. It rings once before cutting to voicemail. Her voice, teasing and bright, fills my ear: "You know what to do. Unless you're Adrian Blackwell, in which case, try smiling first."

A growl builds in my throat. Even now, when she's missing—when something is terribly, undeniably wrong—she manages to get under my skin.

I don't hesitate. The lock gives way easily under my strength, and I step inside. The apartment is dark, still. Too still. Her scent is stronger here but fading, like morning dew burning off in the sun. My eyes adjust instantly, scanning for signs of struggle. No overturned furniture. No shattered glass. No blood.

But no Maya either.

The wrongness of it hits me like a physical blow. She should be here, curled up on that worn leather couch with a book, or dancing around her tiny kitchen to music only she can hear. Her absence feels like a wound—raw and aching in a way I refuse to examine too closely.

My jaw clenches so tight my teeth grind together. I pull out my phone and dial Eli.

He answers on the third ring, voice thick with sleep. "Adrian?"

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